


Lavender and Rose

by asyztole



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Suoh Tamaki, Freckled Suoh Tamaki, Gay Ootori Kyouya, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post Ouran High School Host Club (maybe a year or two after! idk), References to Ouran High School Host Club, Soft Kyoya, Yearning, am i using that right lol, i hc both as bi but for the sake of this fic it'll work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asyztole/pseuds/asyztole
Summary: Kyoya had seen Tamaki shirtless before, hell even naked one time. However, this instance was different. It wasn’t like the other times were intentional (though Tamaki had no qualms about who saw him undressed or not). But this time, Kyoya could no longer deny the butterflies he would get any time he was near Tamaki. The shortness of breath that came with every tender glance. That lovely air when they both shared a laugh. The gentle touch of Tamaki’s hands against his own. He would no longer deny that shimmering face sprinkled with golden freckles. He would no longer deny his happiness.Kyoya took it all in, not even realizing he had been gazing at his friend for so long.
Relationships: Ootori Kyouya/Suoh Tamaki
Comments: 2
Kudos: 72





	Lavender and Rose

**Author's Note:**

> hiii! this is a valentine's gift for my longtime best friend of over 13 years. as per request, I included our fave boys together. very soft and sweet. I haven't written like this in a LONG time. lemme know if you'd like more! i had so much fun writing this. thank you bean . 
> 
> (also freckled tamaki and art hoe kyoya ftw)

The room was sickly sweet. Not a particularly fruity fragrance, but a floral one. Hints of lavender and rose peppered in, yet not a plant was in sight. A small purple glass bottle sat one corner of the room. Of course it was the work of a lavish perfume. The scent would waltz down the halls every time someone opened the door. It was uncommon to most but known mainly to one, Tamaki Suoh. He liked his room to be fragrant unlike most people his age. He claimed it was to “make the ladies swoon” and “picture themselves in a fairy garden.” 

Kyoya would respectfully disagree. He firmly believed it was to cover up the scent of dirty laundry. There were a few suspiscious laundry baskets within eyeview. Not only that but the decor drastically contrasted with the idea of a fairy garden. It was quite a traditional “boy” room, whatever that meant. Everything was some variant of grey or blue. However, it was all through Tamaki’s lens. The grey bedframe had an ornate silver lining, the carpets lush cobalt, and the windows draped in a decorative, cool slate. Kyoya sat upon a periwinkle loveseat and took in the scenery with a leather sketchbook on his lap. It had been a while since he last visited the grand Suoh residence, yet Tamaki’s room looked virtually the same. Minus an embarrassing grade school picture or two.

Kyoya tapped the mechanical pencil he had in his hand against the arm of the loveseat. He had become completely lost within his art. Kyoya had begun sketching out a suit, possibly thinking he could get it tailored and made. He had originally come here to assist Tamaki dress for an upcoming ball. It was one a new socialite neighbor was hosting.   
It was of no real importance seeing as Tamaki could have easily chosen an outfit himself. Though Kyouya knows the man thrives on attention. Who is he to say no? Kyoya could not deny giving Tamaki what ne needs. He would do anything to keep him happy.

They’d gotten sidetracked though. Tamaki had laid out plates of snacks and hors d’oeuvres out for them to try hours ago. He had claimed that it would help the pair think of an outfit for the upcoming event. It really didn’t, but damn were those strawberry cupcakes good. The pair they eventually ended up just hanging out as they usually did. It never got boring, as they enjoyed spending quality time together. This led to Kyoya doing what he does best once he gets comfortable: doodling. With Tamaki and a sketchbook in hand, Ootori was sure to be scribbling away.

He kept the sketchbook close to his heart. It wasn’t known to many that Kyoya even practiced art, let alone even keep a physical record of it. He had collected a good library of leatherbound sketchbooks over the years, and each one had been filled entirely. They ranged from clothing ideas, still life, and sketches of his newfound friends. Lots of sketches of Tamaki in fact.   
Kyoya was by no means ashamed of his art. Far from it, in fact. He just preferred people he admired to see his work. That list was very small. It only included his sister in the meantime. He would not be showing people his sketches of the people he cared for. Or loved. It felt too personal, too private. Kyoya was not about to let his feelings be read through art by any stranger. Only someone who could truly appreciate it.

Meanwhile, Tamaki had dramatically thrown himself over his queen-sized bed amongst all this, adorned in overtly fluffy pillows. He turned on his belly, using a heart-shaped pillow to support him underneath.   
“I can’t decide, Kyoya! All this decision-making is making my head hurt.” he cried, rubbing his temples.

Kyoya could only chuckle in response. “You haven’t even stepped foot into your closet. Though I’m sure you have enough clothes to last you a lifetime.”

“No, I can’t just wear anything Kyoya. It’s a ball. Not some commoner’s house party!” Tamaki turned to his back and kicked his legs out in a tantrum-like fashion. 

Kyoya sighed, editing the sketch he had been working on. “What about that red suit of yours? The one with the embroidery? It’s very handsome.” He said without looking up. 

Tamaki muttered something into his hand. He sat up with a groan, making a shameful walk to his closet.   
“I feel so defeated, Kyoya. This outfit has to be the best of the best. What are you wearing?” He opened the large glass doors of his closet with ease.

Kyoya lined up a pair of shiny black loafers. “I was thinking of getting something made.” he admitted. It wasn’t too uncommon of him to do so. He himself had plenty of clothes, if not more than Tamaki. But designing and having your clothes made felt more special. 

“What?” Tamaki shouted from the depths of his closet. Kyoya forgot that once he’s within the depths of the closet, he was not likely to come out any time soon. He promptly picked himself off the seat, sketchbook in hand, and made his way to the grand glass doors.

“I said I was thinking of getting something…” Kyoya stopped within his tracks. As soon as he entered the foyer-like room, his eyes were immediately caught by racks upon racks of the latest fashions. Kyoya stared in awe. He did not remember the closet, more of a storage unit at this point, being so large. He knew Tamaki had an affinity for costumes and the sort, but this was more than enough. He walked further inside, still in disbelief. Maybe his friend did have more clothes than him. Kyoya critically adjusted his glasses. It couldn’t have been that long since Kyoya had stepped in here last, right? Imagine all the payments needed to complete this in such a short time. A whole shipment more was expected to overflow the place it seemed, as boxes were lined up beneath the racks.

“Tamaki...you cannot be serious with all this clothing. How can you say you don’t have anything to wear when you have plenty. Where are you? And since when did you need a whole department store for a wardrobe?” Kyoya called from down a row of sweaters. His hand landed on a black one. It was strikingly familiar. He could’ve sworn it was identical to one he had worn about a month ago. 

“Over here! And no, I’m telling you, I have nothing! I am getting rid of some of the clothes anyway.” Tamaki replied, and Kyoya could hear the sound of rustling.

“Is that what the boxes are for?” Kyoya’s eyes drifted from the clothes-ridden floor to the ceiling. It was such a mess. There were mirrors even on the ceiling? Is that even logical? Kyoya shook his head distastefully. He began to follow the familiar Suoh sounds of disgruntlement. He turned around a corner of scarves only to be met with a shirtless Tamaki.  
Kyoya’s heart fluttered. He wouldn’t show it, not even in the slightest. In fact, he might have covered it with a quick adjustment to his glasses and an inconspicuous clearing of the throat.

But he didn’t. This time he stared, practically gawking at Tamki’s lean frame. His dark brown eyes scanned Tamaki’s sun-kissed back and across his surprisingly broad shoulders. Tamaki turned around, fussing with a dress shirt he had began trying on before Kyoya entered the room. His tummy had the same amount of freckles as his face, and Kyoya had a hard time not trying to count them all. Tamaki’s lip did a familiar pout. He was obviously unhappy with this choice of shirt. He took it off, flinging it to the floor to retrieve another one.

Kyoya had seen Tamaki shirtless before, hell even naked one time. However, this instance was different. It wasn’t like the other times were intentional (though Tamaki had no qualms about who saw him undressed or not). But this time, Kyoya could no longer deny the butterflies he would get any time he was near Tamaki. The shortness of breath that came with every tender glance. That lovely air when they both shared a laugh. The gentle touch of Tamaki’s hands against his own. He would no longer deny that shimmering face sprinkled with golden freckles. He would no longer deny his happiness. 

Kyoya took it all in, not even realizing he had been gazing at his friend for so long. 

Tamaki looked up for a split second. His blue eyes caught a bit of wind as to what was going on. 

“You like what you see, Kyoya?” Tamaki playfully threw red slacks at his chest. Kyoya felt the feeble facade break once Suoh spoke up. 

“Ah, erm, you’ve been working out?” Kyoya said absent-mindedly. Stupid, he thought. Tamaki would never set foot in a gym.

“Quite the charmer today, Kyoya! You know that’s my job. Just help me button this up, would you? You still haven’t helped me pick out an outfit yet.” Tamaki slipped on a black dress shirt. Kyoya nodded, clearing his throat. He placed his sketchbook down upon a pile of discarded shirts. Kyoya stepped in front of Tamaki, beginning to button up the shirt from top to bottom. He struggled to keep calm. After all, he was at the King’s mercy. 

Tamaki sighed, and Kyoya could feel his chest rise underneath his fingertips. He tried to contain his blush, though Kyoya could feel the slight heat reach his cheeks. Why was he getting so flustered? Maybe it was the atmosphere after all.

“Kyoya, as much as you like that red suit, I just feel like it’s too extravagant.” Tamaki ruffled a hand through his hair.

“Extravagant? For you?” Kyoya smiled, keeping his face down. He thought of anything but Tamaki’s rosy lips, his kind yet wild heart, or his icy blue eyes. Being the lovestruck fool was not his card. Yet Tamaki’s hands were in control of the entire deck. 

“Yes, even for me. I want to tone it down. Be casual yet suave. You know how it is.” Tamaki looked at the top of Kyoya’s head. “I think a wonderful cream will do. One like sweet coffee.” He gave a pat to the back of Kyoya’s head. Kyoya stood up and turned Tamaki by his shoulders gently to the large mirror in front of them. He grabbed a nearby blush blazer, one that had nearly matched his face a second ago. He must keep his feelings in check. He would not break. Not now.

“Pink?” Tamaki asked, a bit surprised by the contrast. He too admired the suggestions. Having Kyoya to rely on and have for company was comforting. 

“I think it suits you well. You haven’t worn this in a while, have you?” Kyoya watched as Tamaki rummaged through hangers of pants. “I think you look good in it.” he adds. Complimenting him casually wouldn’t lead to anything. He was just being. good friend. Tamaki sprung up with a pair of cream-colored dress pants. 

“You think I look good in pink?” Tamaki thought for a moment. Hearing a compliment from one of his favorite people in the world certainly made his day. “What did you say you were wearing again? Maybe we can match!” the blond suggests with a smile. He shimmied the pants on, posing in the mirror for a few seconds. He turns back to Kyoya for approval. Kyoya came behind him and adjusted the sleeves of his shirt carefully as if he had a million times before. It was a near-symbiotic ritual. It just felt right, being next to him. 

“Oh well, I was thinking of getting something made. Just for this occasion. I’ve been sketching up a few ideas.” Kyoya said casually. He realized what he had done in that instance. If there was one thing Tamaki loved, it was playfully teasing Kyoya. This then resulted in Tamaki trying to rummage through Kyoya’s precious sketchbook. It he often guarded the leatherbound book with an iron grip, lest anyone see his prized creations. 

Tamaki knew the consequences. He eyed the little black book like a cat and wiggles his hind end to pounce. Much to Kyoya’s chagrin, he had left it just behind them on a pile of clothes. He had a head start. Would he be able to beat Tamaki’s leap? 

“Don’t you dare.” He warned. He took a step back to prepare for the worst.

Tamaki took that as a big red challenge. He darted for the book, diving into the clothing pile which held them headfirst. Kyoya countered this attack with a full-body block. They both landed with a thud, Tamaki on top of Kyoya. He used his entire princely weight to keep Kyoya down. Tamaki sat triumphantly on top of Kyoya’s hips.

Breathless for a moment, Tamaki studied the figure beneath him. 

Time seemed to freeze. In the process, he had knocked off Kyoya’s signature frames. His eyes were wide with shock. Tamaki could see every individual eyelash on his dark, calculating eyes. They were warm and deep and nearly black in their shade. Within their depths, there was a hint of a twinkle in them. Despite his now furrowed brow, he knew Kyoya enjoyed this moment. Tamaki stared back and his wide, glittering eyes seeming to confirm to deep suspicion he had locked away. 

With a hand unwittingly placed on Kyoya’s chest, he could recognize the same beat. It’s one he had heard in the chests of host club girls long before. The sound of a swooning heart. Tamaki turned beet red. To cover his face, he swiped the sketchbook behind Kyoya’s ear. He fell of Kyoya in the process. Kyoya sat up, watching as Tamaki ran his fingers across the pages. He would have snatched the book right back, had it not been for Tamaki’s expression. 

It went from a flustered pink to a soft blush. He scanned through dozens of Kyoya’s fashion sketches. They ranged from casual clothing to full-on gala attire. They were lovely. That’s not entirely what drew his attention, however.

Throughout these sketches were almost life-like sketches of Tamaki’s face. They were carefully drawn into a few pages. There were many candid sketches of him. Ones in moments Tamaki would forget even happened. He ran his fingers across one, where they had gone to the beach. It was a year ago at this point, yet Kyoya had recreated the picture like it was yesterday.

He knew Kyoya was an artist but damn, this was impressive. It’s like he counted every freckle, every lock of golden hair, and his outfit for the day. Not even that, but Kyoya had drawn the beach itself. Tamaki could smell the salty air and all the seafood they ate that day.  
There were even sketches of the Hiitachin twins, Mori and Honey, and an equally detailed sketch of Haruhi that day. Tamaki was beyond impressed. He remembers the dress she wore. How hot it was that day, and wondered how Kyoya felt. It was obvious from these pages that Kyoya loved him. And it was more than Tamaki would ever know. 

Kyoya knew Tamaki had found his many drawings of him and dreaded the outcome. He hadn’t anticipated this at all. In all his years of knowing what to say and what to do, he suddenly felt helpless. Maybe he was the lovestruck fool after all. His face felt hot again and his palms began to get sticky. He couldn’t admit his feelings like this, or so he thought. Not now.

Tamaki closed the book with a gentle hand. 

“Tamaki, I can explain,” Kyoya said as if he was unsure of himself. The blond had never seen his friend in such a state of vulnerability. It was beautiful in gentle regard. The moment wasn’t tense, however. It was free.

“You don’t have to.” Tamaki said, scooting closer. Kyoya could feel his heart nearly burst out of his chest. “Kyoya, I’m deeply flattered.” He said quietly.

Kyoya braced for the worst. Instead, Tamaki grabbed his wrist and intertwined their hands together. He rubbed his thumb against Kyoya’s own. Kyoya’s breath hitched. He had never felt so open. Yet with Tamaki, It felt natural. He finally felt like he didn’t have to hide.

“You’ve given me the one thing I could ever ask for.” He said as he moved closer. Tamaki pressed their foreheads together in a tender embrace. 

“What’s that?” Kyoya said breathlessly.

“An artistic kind of love.” Tamaki pressed his lips against Kyoya’s. He kissed Tamaki back, letting Tamaki’s hands cup his own face. He hummed into the kiss slightly. Kyoya still tasted like those cupcakes they had an hour ago. He even smelled just like Tamaki’s room, but a thousand times sweeter. He was pure and all things good. All things that came from above. Kyoya rested a hand upon Tamaki’s thigh. They fell into one another, unraveling to expose their true feelings.

Tamaki was sweet and mild. He had a hint of coffee on his tongue. A hint of milk and sugar too, just like he likes it. Tamaki brushed his fingers against Kyoya’s earlobe. At last, he pulled away, just for a second, to admire the art in front of him. Kyoya had a dreamy look, one seen in Baroque paintings. One that he would think of forevermore. Kyoya mustered up a shy smile. His muse had finally gotten through to him. 

Kyoya pressed another kiss to his cheek. They laid next to one another silently upon the scattered clothes. He was thankful for this moment, wherein not much was said. Not that anything had to be said at all. Kyoya had formulated all his words into pictures, and thankfully Tamaki was a visual learner. He would not draw this moment in time, instead, think of it fondly.

He broke the silence with a simple question: “Did you take my sweater?”


End file.
